


Nights Like This

by Serai



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Ghosts, Longing, Love, M/M, Memories, Sex, Slash, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serai/pseuds/Serai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a starry night, Sam remembers Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights Like This

.  
The weather that day had been hot, clear and fine, and the scent of the new-mown grasses blanketed the Shire like a bright green cloak thrown about its shoulders. As the day wore on to a fine rosy sunset, Sam stood next to the tree on top of the hill and watched the colors transform themselves out of the sky. Soon the stars would appear, filling the night with their glorious profusion. Smiling to himself, Sam thought he could still count on one hand the hobbits that paid them mind.

For many years, that moment, that span each night during which the heavens first poured out their river of light, had been painful for him, for his thoughts could not help following the track that led from the stars' piercing beauty back to the face of his vanished friend, and that same light. For years, Sam was always within doors at that hour, and when he walked out at night he did not look at the sky.

All that had passed long ago, and he'd finally made peace with the stars. Now they were a comfort to him, and a reminder of what had once been. At times, looking up into their depths, it was as if the Lady had known far back in the making of the world, and using the eternal starlight had painted a portrait in the heavens for him to see.

He seldom looked for that likeness anymore, though. He didn't want it to fade, like a parchment too long exposed to sunlight, and so he'd stored the memories carefully away. Still, despite his care, he'd long since found the details had drifted away with the years, and what he most remembered now was simply the warm velvet tide of love, the ebbs and flows, eddies and currents. Memory was strange that way. He remembered the embraces but not where they took place, the feel of kisses that he couldn't place. Only in dreams did he see all the myriad pieces locked into place, but even those dreams had become few and far between. Sam didn't know whether or not to be sad about that.

But on nights like this, with the warmth of the day leaching from the soft earth into the air, and the sky dropping through every shade of blue from sapphire to nearly black, Sam couldn't help but watch. The soft light, the tiny night sounds, the bright cool smells. Memory was pulling him, and on this quiet night he could find no reason to resist it. A wisp of breeze stirring through the branches became a sigh. It was on nights like this that he thought of Frodo. 

 

How soft the cooling ground was, and the grass under his feet inviting. Sam lowered himself to the ground, his movements slower and more careful than in years past. He sat quietly for a moment, then lay back to breathe in the summer bright scents of green mingled with roses and a trace of dust. The oak's branches filtered the stars above him, and he remembered another night, nigh onto fifty years ago, when he lay here under these same branches, and watched the starlight flicker on the skin of Frodo's upturned throat.

The memory pierced him suddenly, and a spiked burst of tears overwhelmed Sam. His ears burned as he heard again those soft cries, and the struggle to contain them. Released by first one sob, then another, the details came crowding into him - the tender pallor of skin, the particular curve of shoulder as an arm stretched to pull him close, dip and swell of hip and thigh and knee at his waist, and what it felt like to press against the coolth of that silken surface and the heat that rose through it.

He was caught and couldn't get away, pulled into a net of memory as he felt himself responding to the past, all the brighter for not having been thought of for so long. Sam closed his fists in the grass, eyes shut tight, and when the smell of Frodo's sweat rose from his memory he moaned in pain, and he moved a hand to his belly to press against the ridge of flesh that pressed back against his hand.

Frodo had laughed, soft and breathless laughs. Sam had never known anyone so full of quiet joy as was his master, and when they lay together it seemed to well up out of his fine skin like water from a clear spring. Loving Frodo, feeling his touch, had been the high starry sky of his life, just as planting, tending and gathering in the garden had been the warm redolent ground of his days, and all of it for the delight of his master.

Now, what was left? A beautiful home, a loving family, honor and friends and a name well known. But all of it built on a memory. A memory of love and laughter and starlight. _This_ memory. Would he trade it all for that remembered touch? For those stolen moments long ago? It wasn't often he dared ask himself that question, but on nights like this, it came unbidden, to torment him as it had in the sad, dark days after he'd watched that sail disappear with the sun: would he give it all up, for just one more touch?

_I hope not, my Sam._

He started violently at the sound of that voice, so close it seemed right there in his ears. His eyes flew open, and his heart near stopped. There, leaning over him, was Frodo.

 _No_ , he thought desperately. He shut his eyes and shook his head. _You've drifted off to sleep, Sam Gamgee. Wake up now._ He rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself up onto his elbows, but as he lowered his hand, a soft chuckle froze him to the marrow.

_Perhaps. But I don't think so. Open your eyes, my Sam._

He began to shake, suddenly afraid. What was happening to him? But he did as he was bid, for his master was calling him. He opened his eyes.

It _was_ Frodo, and yet not. His eyes were the same, deep and sweet and filled with quiet laughter. But there were lines finely etched around them, and the hair that moved a little in the breeze was pure white, catching the pale light and reflecting it in a soft glow about the beloved face. The clothes he wore were never hobbit clothes either - a white tunic and trousers, embroidered with what looked like pure silver. He _glittered_ , as if he were made of starlight. 

"I am dreaming," Sam murmured, and Frodo laughed again.

 _Then it's a good dream,_ he said, and leaned towards Sam, his lips parting. And their lips met, and never afterwards could Sam puzzle out what had happened next. How they had come to entangle themselves together, or how it was that cool hands had opened his clothes and bared him to the sky. Was it a vision, or a ghost, or some magic sent from across the sea to gentle his hurting soul? At moments it seemed he held a fragile thing of fog and dew and shifting light, at others his own love was there as real as ever, his hands strong and insistent, his flesh hot and mouth biting and cock as randy as ever it had been when they were young and all of life held them close. Frodo cried out, first soft and sighing on the faint breeze, then loud and clear in Sam's ears, and forever after he never knew which had been the truth of it.

 

 _Sam, my dear._ Frodo stood in the moonlight, one hand held out to help him up. But he didn't want to get up, because he knew what it meant. A moment, then - _Please._

Reluctantly, Sam placed his hand within those glowing fingers, expecting them to slip straight through his, so fine and strange they were. But there was strength there, and he lifted himself slowly with their help. He looked longingly into that dear face, the smile that only he had ever known.

"You're going, aren't you?" Sam whispered. At Frodo's nod, a sob came to his throat. "Why are you here? Why did you come now, after all this time?"

A long pause, during which Frodo looked at him with a searching gaze. _Because I wanted to see you again, and I didn't know..._ He sighed, a soft sound like the distant waves on the shore. _I don't know if I ever shall._

"Don't say that," Sam begged. "Please. You said I might come to you someday, and I mean to do it."

Frodo smiled. _You remember._

"How could I forget a thing like that? Though it seems like a dream sometimes," Sam admitted.

 _It wasn't. It isn't,_ Frodo insisted. He pulled Sam close, and caressed his cheek. _Don't ever think so, my Sam. Don't give up. I'll wait for you, as long as I can._

"And I," Sam promised. "I'll always follow you. You know that. I _will._ "

 _Yes,_ Frodo whispered, and kissed him once more. _Think of me. On nights like this, remember me._

The stars were soft, glittering in the darkness as Sam looked up, and lowered his empty arms.

"I will."

 

.


End file.
